


Liar, Liar

by Darke_Eco_Freak



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Family Bonding, Family Secrets, For the Drama of it All, Gen, Minor Kyrie/Nero (Devil May Cry), Soap Opera level drama, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22059814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darke_Eco_Freak/pseuds/Darke_Eco_Freak
Summary: What's a little lie between family? Especially since it all worked out anyway? They took out the Qliphoth, they saved the world, and Dante even managed to bring his brother back with him. Things are going good, great in fact, and he's ready to spend the holidays with the family he hasn't had since he was a kid. Who cares about a little blood red lie?
Relationships: Dante & Nero (Devil May Cry), Dante & Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 100





	Liar, Liar

"You get me something for the holidays?" Nero asks mid-thrust and parry, and Dante ducks under a wing. The very tips of some spectral claws breeze over his head, ruffling his hair, but they never touch and yeah, he's still got it.

"Nope," he says, blithe as ever, popping the P and breaking a leg.

Over, somewhere in the midst of the blitz, Vergil snorts and Dante sighs cause Nero can definitely hear that Verge. And okay yeah, maybe he _did_ get something for the kid, but it's gonna be a _surprise_.

"What'd you get me?" the kid grunts, flinging a scythe over to Dante for dismemberment cuz Nero absolutely hates those things. And Dante, like a good uncle, takes care of them for his adorable little shit of a nephew.

"I didn't get you a single thing. I'm broke, remember?" and Verge snorts louder, as if he doesn't got more important things to deal with. The Behemoth they've been tracking across the city for example?

"If it's a ugly sweater, I'm giving it to Kyrie for material," Nero warns, entirely serious, and Dante sighs again cause he _knows_ that.

Nero hates anything that's not punk and edgy, which Dante can respect, kid's got an aesthetic to stick to. Which is also why Dante knows Nero's gonna love the shit outta the fur lined jacket he's keeping hidden behind a wall of arms at the shop. He'd better love it, thing wasn't cheap or easy to get but Dante's got a good feeling about it.

Kid's been complaining about the cold ever since he started taking jobs outside of Fortuna, something something different climates, something something demon lizard. Dante's not too clear with the specifics but that's fine because, like the awesome uncle he is, he got something to fix the issue even without the finer details. He might've had to bribe Nicoletta into getting Nero's measurements and made a few discreet calls to Kyrie to get his colours right but if he did or didn't, that's between Dante and the girls.

"Lady's got me dick deep in debt, you think I'd spend money on you? Get real," he scoffs, neatly sidestepping an empusa and letting Nero fry it with his bringer. They fight good together, almost as good as him and Verge these days, which is...nice.

It's nice having a devil hunting partner again, not that Trish isn't great, she is but she's got a totally different style. Nero's all about the flash, the pizzazz, and shooting things in the face until they asplode. Yeah sure him and Nero aren't 100% in sync but a little chaffing just adds to the fun.

"Your attempts at lying have always been pathetic, brother, but this is particularly pitiful," Vergil says, calm as you please, like he's not slashing away at the Behemoth's neck. A splurt of blood washes over, raining down on them, and Nero whines in disgust. Dante tips his head back and enjoys it, not everyday he gets to take a blood bath without it eating his skin down to the bone.

"For once I agree," Nero says, hacking off a leg with his engine sword and it's Dante's turn to snort. Like father, like son, as they say.

"You're both so mean to me, I should return the presents I didn't getcha,"

* * *

"Boys," Mom says, and Dante winces. Uh oh.

Next to him Vergil pouts harder and crinkles up his nose and _uh oh_.

"Boys, did you eat the pie I left cooling?" Mom asks even though she doesn't gotta ask. Vergil's mouth is stained purple from the bu-berries and Dante's got crumbs on his shirt but Mom asks anyway. Cause they're big boys and they gotta own up when they do something wrong. That's what Dad says anyway.

Dante doesn't _feel_ very big right now. He feels really tiny, teeny tiny, and wishes he could be teeny tinier cause then Mom wouldn't be able to see him and he could just run away. Mom's mad and Dante doesn't like when Mom gets mad. She gets mean when she's mad, that's what Dad says too, and Dante wonders if Mom takes Dad's toys away when she gets mad at him.

Right now, Mom's got her mouth pursed up like Vergil's, like they ate something real sour, and she's got her hands cotched up on her hips in a very " _Mom_ " way. Dante really wants to run away before she starts wagging her finger at him but he can't leave Vergil behind.

"No Mommy," Dante lies, smiling his biggest, bestest smile. Dad said to own up when he did something wrong but Dad also said to never doubt himself. If he believed in what he was doing then he should stick to his guns, which Dante doesn't really understand because he's still too little for guns. 

" _Dante_."

**_Uh oh._ **

Vergil cringes away and Dante ducks his head down cause Mom's really mad now. She's " _go sit in the corner and think about what you did_ " mad and Dante doesn't wanna sit in a musty corner! The sun's still out and he wanted to go pick some more berries before dinner. Even if it'd ruin his appetite.

And he knows Verge doesn't wanna sit in a corner either cause he's not allowed to read when he's sitting. They're not allowed to do anything fun because it's a punishment and they gotta think about what they've done. Which is lame.

"I'll ask again, and I expect the truth," Mom says in the voice that means she's not playing around anymore. The day's pretty warm but not that warm but Dante starts sweating anyway. His palms go all slick and icky and Vergil takes a sharp breath next to him.

"Did you eat the pie I le—"

"I did Mother!"

And Dante's head snaps up, eyes big, as he stares at his brother.

"All by myself, just me."

And that's a _lie_.

Vergil's _lying_. Vergil nearly never lies, not with words. He doesn't always tell the truth sure, but that's just him not saying things, it's not him lying. And it's never him lying for Dante.

That's what he's doing right? Lying for Dante cause Mom's already super mad with him?

"Vergil," Mom sighs and she doesn't sound all mad anymore, but she's still not happy.

Vergil doesn't seem to care though, he's got his nose stuck in the air and looks all determined. Like when they're sparring and Dad's watching and Vergil wants to win because he's always gotta be the best. But uh-uh, Dante's just as good!

"Nuh- _uh!_ It was both of us!" Dante yells, scrunching up his nose too and pouting. Vergil can't do that. It's not fair!

"You're a bad liar, Dante," Vergil sneers, and Dante wants to punch him in his stupid face. They both ate the pie even though they knew they shouldn't, and if they're gonna be punished, then it should be both of them. That's how it should go cause that's right.

"Mom I ate the pie too, you believe me right?" Dante asks, looking up at Mom who's got a weird expression on her face. Kinda like she wants to smile but kinda like she's still mad and Dante doesn't know what that means.

What it means, is that Mom doesn't believe him. She tells Vergil to go sit in the corner, but not him, and Vergil goes with a huge frown and some grumbling. And, after spending five minutes outside, alone, Dante heads back inside and sits in the corner with his brother.

* * *

"So, how'd Sparda decide?" Nero asks one day, when business is slow and the drone of the heater's just about mind-numbing. Dante blinks stupidly, trying to pick up the thread of a conversation he wasn't listening to.

He's not gonna lie, he was straight up sleeping for most of it and has no idea what Nero's talking about. Vergil, his illustrious brother, slumped over on the couch doesn't seem to know what Nero means either. If the snort of a snore and fluttering open eyes mean anything. Geeze, was the kid talking to himself this whole time?

"Decide what?" Dante asks, cause Vergil's blinking owlishly and Nero's prone to pouting when he thinks they're not taking him seriously. It's kinda adorable actually, and reminds him that Nero's still that snarky punk kid he met in church. The packaging might'a changed but the surprise inside's still the same.

"Who got Yamato and who got Rebellion," Nero says, and that clears it up, though not really. Dante looks at Vergil, Vergil looks at him, and they both look at Nero who's on the floor with half of Dante's devil arms scattered around him. They've both been trying to convince the kid to pick one, any one, didn't even matter which. A devil arm'd be way better in a fight than his fuel injected nightmare, less chance of blowing up and quicker at taking down demons. Plus, they may or may not have bet on it.

Vergil thinks his kid will choose something sleek and effective, Agni and Rudra maybe. Dante, because he's the smarter one, knows Nero's gonna pick something big'n flashy and Gilgamesh ain't a bad choice. But Nero's been rifling through Dante's stash for three hours already and hasn't picked anything. And, now he's got questions, yay.

"Rock, paper, scissors," Dante says the same time Vergil says, "Red Hand."

And then Nero's scowling at both of them, arms crossed and on the verge of a full-blown Nero Pout.

Dante looks at Vergil, Vergil looks at him, and they're both flinging fists into empty air.

"Rock. Paper. Scissors. Shoot!"

Vergil throws rock, Dante throws scissors, and Vergil smirks as smug as pie. Dante wants to smack him. Not hard enough to knock the last of his braincells free but just enough to get rid of that stupid smirk. He really hates that smirk. It's as bad as the Nero Pout.

"Ugh fine," he groans, rolling his eyes and wiggling in his seat like the immature idiot Lady's always saying he is. He thinks he's entitled, just this once, cause yeah. Trust Nero to pick the one thing about Sparda that Dante really never wants to talk about.

Ask about the legacy, ask about the power, hell, ask about Mundus! Dante'd gladly spend hours talking about any of that stuff, even if some of it's boring. Better than thinking about the last time he ever saw his father. Better than remembering how sad mom looked and a conversation too quiet for him or Verge to hear. Geeze that's depressing.

"Dad had us fight and the loser got Yamato," he lies, grinning like the world's most lovable bastard. Which was another Lady title, and one he claims with glee.

Nero's pout drops, turns into a frown with squinty eyes, and Vergil's smirk turns into a glare, but Dante's gonna ignore all of that. Verge can glare himself blue in the face, Dante can say whatever the hell he wants.

"Yeah right, tell me the truth Dante," Nero demands, and...and...

And he's in the Qliphoth. He's tired, he's so fucking tired, but he can’t collapse just yet. There’s still so much to do and so much Nero isn’t _letting_ him do. Vergil's up there, waiting for them, and Dante's already dragged the kid too far into this mess. Someone's gonna fuckin die up there and Dante's got a slick-quick-sick feeling it might not be him. If Nero goes up there, it's definitely not gonna be him so, so, " _Because he's—"_

"That's the truth kid!,” he grumbles, back in Devil May Cry, back drooping over his desk, “We had a fight and dad gave us our swords after, I dunno how the old man chose."

Did their father know what they'd be like? What? The old man live long enough to just _know_ the kinda styles they’d develop from a few baby spars, train enough students maybe? Or was the old man hoping the swords would influence them?

Rebellion to help Dante remember he was a demon too, hide him when Mundus attacked, and keep him hidden after. Yamato to remind Vergil that humanity wasn’t weak and give him something to aspire to, and hell, maybe something to give him an out when shit got too tough. Not that Vergil ever knew how to cut his losses and fucking run.

Well, the old man couldn't win 'em all. And, judging by Nero's frustrated little huff and the squeezed shut eyes, kid couldn't win anything. If the Order stuck around, and they figured out what Nero was, they might've made him a Saint. The patron Saint of " _I'm done with this bullshit_ ", yeah, had a nice ring to it.

"He noted our burgeoning combat styles and decided accordingly," Vergil cuts in before Nero can say something else, “ _obviously_.”

There’s more venom in that one word than Dante’s heard in a while and when he looks up, hesitant cause he really doesn’t wanna start another fight in here, Vergil’s…Vergil’s lookin a little bit desperate. He’s looking a little bit mad and a little bit sad and his hands are bunched in up in his coat, curling-uncurling like dread in Dante’s gut.

Whatever emotion that is, it’s flickering and sharp in Vergil’s eyes and Dante doesn’t know what to do. They’ve never really talked about Dad, have they? Not like this, not so casual and trite. Hell.

“Anyway kid, what about that combustion engine of yours? One of those Order crackpots give it to you or’d you pinch it?” Dante asks, swinging the conversation back around with something a little too reckless and sharp. He’s looking to get a rise out of the kid and bury every thought about Sparda Nero might have.

“C’mon, it’s okay to snitch, I can tell you got Verge’s sticky fingers,” Dante lies, winking all smarmy and annoying. Laughing outright when Nero’s nose crinkles, just like Vergil’s, and a familiar angry flush creeps down his neck.

Nero probably knows he’s lying, Dante’s terrible at it after all, but it’s a good opening. Something Nero resents cause Dante knows for a fact Nero used to steal things back in Fortuna, as a kid of course, and it was only ever food. Cause hybrid kids needed more than orphanages were willing to give and Nero’s a good person like that, he’d only ever steal necessary things.

And Vergil, who’s glaring at him now, only ever stole from rich pricks who could afford a couple missing heirlooms. Verge’s not good per se, and he’s never claimed to be, but he’s never been a petty thief.

“I earned Red Queen all on my own, you asshole!” Nero yells.

“Why don’t I show you just how _sticky_ these fingers can be, brother?” Vergil seethes.

And Dante laughs until his stomach hurts. Too easy.

* * *

“C’mon kid, cut the crap,” another bartender, third for the night, sighs and Dante bites back something nasty. He’s tryna stay on this guy’s good side after all, but damn if the prick ain’t making it hard.

He just wants a couple drinks, what’s wrong with that? He’s got the scratch and it’s not like there’s any cops here. So what’s the problem? Ain’t his money good enough for a few shots, or did bartenders in this part’a town all grow a conscience over night? Lame.

God he misses Bobby’s.

“Hey, I’m trying to be a paying customer here, just take the money and gimme something hard,” Dante says, for like the fifth time. He even slaps a fifty on the sticky bar and snatches his hand away before the bartender can shove it back between his fingers.

They glare at each other for a good minute. Dante as petulantly as he knows how, and probably not helping his case, the bartender with a stare level enough to make a demon crack. It’s all in the set of his mouth and the steel behind those calm brown eyes.

“You’re what? Nineteen? Ain’t it past your bedtime?” the guy sneers, after a while, and Dante has to fight down a pout. He’s twenty, thanks for asking, and he’s just turned twenty, thanks again for asking. Exactly, if the clock above the door’s accurate, forty-seven minutes ago and he'd really like to forget that.

It's his first birthday since…well since, and he’s been vaguely dreading it in the same vague way he used to anticipate it. Back before he really knew his—before he knew Vergil was out there, he’d always hoped but he never knew and yeah. He used to almost look forward to his birthday, even if he never actually celebrated, it was just something to think about.

It was his day but only half his day, and maybe, somewhere out there, the other half of the day was getting thought about too. It was almost comforting, for a while, and now it’s not and he really doesn’t wanna think about this at all. So. Alcohol please.

“Well gee, I know my babyface’s bad, but it can’t be _that_ bad,” Dante leers, stroking his own damningly soft cheek. Not even a hint of stubble.

Grue used to tease him about it, say it’d get him in trouble one of these days, and Dante’d laugh and tell the old man just where to shove it…God he misses Grue.

And maybe that does something to his face because the bartender cocks his head with a huh, lips twisting into not quite a frown. Still not an okay but Dante can work with this.

“Listen, I’m not tryna get smashed, I’m just wanna have a couple drinks in honour of…some people I lost,” which is a lot more honest than he wanted to be but screw it. If it gets him his drink, then it’s worth some sappy emotion. And, it’s not like this guy’ll ever know who he’s talking about, or see him after tonight.

Dante specifically went to a part of town he never visits and found a bar he’s never been in, so he’d never have to think about it again. Lady says he’s got an “ _avoidant personality_ ”, and he’s got no idea what that means but he thinks it’s an insult.

“Just a couple?” the bartender asks, suspicious still but that ain’t a flat-out no.

“Yeah, scout’s honour,” he says, shooting off a quick salute. He’s got about as good an idea about scout’s honour as he does avoidant personalities, but he doesn’t gotta know all of that stuff. None of that’s important, getting himself acceptably buzzed is.

And, he does keep his word, only a couple drinks…at that bar.

* * *

The holidays are a lot. Dante remembers celebrating some vague thing back when he was a kid, not sure if it was Christmas or Hanukah or what but they did celebrate. Mom used to make all his favourites, and Vergil’s too, and she’d tell them stories about little matchgirls and nutcrackers.

If he really ties, Dante can even remember Dad being around for one or two holiday seasons. And, now that he’s old and smelly, he thinks he knows why that is.

End of the year, less daylight, more magic; they’ve got demons coming out the yin-yang and business is booming. Business is also running him off his feet and making Lady just about pull her hair out in frustration. It’s been ages since they’ve had an all hands on deck kinda situation so it pretty much figures it’d happen the first year Dante actually wants to celebrate.

“I can pick up that job in Dalton on my way back, but someone still needs to deal with the demon horses in Lock Haven,” Lady’s telling him while Dante does some creative rescheduling. He needs two days, just two days. Two days to spend with Nero, Kyrie, and the kids over in Fortuna, then he can work through the rest of the winter.

Two days might be asking two too much. Geeze, DMC’s got more hunters than ever, and they still can’t keep up with the demand. Talk about a holiday blitz.

“Trish’s got the empusa nest in Valdosta and Vergil’s out in Arizona, but if I hustle the Tulsa job and get Baton Rouge under control, I think it’ll clear out the 30th and 31st,” Dante says, erasing a whole week on the calendar and squinting at the appointment book. Maybe he shouldn’t’ve expanded so far, they’re stretched too thin, but damn it, he wanted to prove he could run his own damn business if he actually tried.

Maybe part of it’s him wanting to impress his big brother, okay maybe a huge part of it, but Dante wants to do this for himself too. He’s got a family now, and a legacy. He can’t keep slumming it through life and hoping it all works out somehow. He’s gotta…shit, he’s gotta be an adult for once and get things done.

He also really wants to be an uncle to Nero, now that uh, now that the cat’s outta the bag and all that jazz. And whoops, his pencil snaps with a splintering little crack, and Dante frowns at it, at his own hand, and digs around in a drawer for a new one. He should probably work on his grip, huh?

“And the overtime job in Montgomery for the 25th?” Lady asks and he. _Shit_. He forgot about that one. He has to pinch his nose and count to three before he snaps another pencil, or maybe the phone.

He forgot the Christmas job, which, in his defence, came in at ass o’clock day before yesterday when he was already half asleep. Flipping through the appointment book now finds him a scribble that could probably be a name and another scribble that’s almost the number 2 with a lopsided 5. Thank God there’s an address underneath that’s mostly legible.

Could he send Vergil? Using Yamato meant he didn’t have to add travel time to the job time, but no, Vergil was gonna pick up a few more jobs in Arizona then something in Nevada before he got back. It was cutting it too close with old years as is and Dante’s was kinda counting on using Yamato to get to Fortuna.

Yeah he could probably fly there himself, or use Cavaliere, but that was still a few hours more than he was anticipating. Vergil might actually gut him if he went alone though, cause it’s supposed to be a family thing and they’re trying to do better with the whole family thing these days.

“Yeah I got it, don’t worry,” he lies, double checking a couple of the other appointments to make sure he didn’t spell anything wrong. He’s been through that before. An A instead of an O and suddenly he’s a whole town over looking for the wrong man on the wrong street. He can’t afford a fuckup like that right now.

He also can’t afford to sour the pot but there’s no one who can make the Montgomery hunt. He’d call the client back but there’s no number listed, unless it’s part of the scribbles, in which case, too bad. If they’re desperate, they’ll call back on their own, but Dante probably won’t be here to answer if they do. Double shit.

“Yeah, right,” and he can hear the eyeroll through the phone, Lady’s known him long enough to know when he’s lying through his teeth, and he doesn’t know why he even tried. Though, if he listens to Nero, he’s just real shit at lying. And Dante resents that, he’s a great liar when the situation calls.

Like when he’s desperate not to lose the brother he already lost three times already. Or when he’s trying to save the kid he loves more’n he’s ever loved himself. When he’s standing on top of the world and in the guts of a tree, trying his best and never being good enough, so why _not_ lie a little?

Not like it’s eating him up inside and burning him holl—

“Listen, I’ve got a hunter who owes me a favour, he’s not fulltime anymore but he’s still good and he lives in Hillsboro,” Lady says, and it snaps him back to the present. To the here and now and his wordless scribble at the edge of the calendar. Well, at least he didn’t break another pencil. Progress.

“I can put in the request and pay him a commission fee,” Lady offers and uh, huh.

Dante doesn’t want to outsource, he never has before but…does he really have a choice here? If he tries to pick up the Montgomery job himself, then there’s no way he can make it to Fortuna for those two days, and it’s really gotta be two days. If he sends Verge out, then it’s a longer commute than he planned for. Lady and Trish are out too, and Nero’s definitely out.

He's never hired an out of shop hunter before but Lady knows this guy, right? She’s worked with him before or something and she’s willing to use up one of her precious favours. For Dante, and his family drama; he’s really gotta get her a great gift now.

“Yeah, alright, make the call and get back to me on it,” he sighs, running a restless hand through his hair, and remembers his manners, “thanks Lady, it means a lot.”

Her snort comes across crackling and short, but there’s a smile in her voice and Dante can’t help smiling with her. She’s a better friend than he ever thought he’d have, older too. He’s lost a lot in life, his family, his friends, his rep that one time, but he’s got a lot too and he’s grateful he caught that falling chick way back when. Lady’s so much more than he deserves.

“Consider it an early holiday present, give the kid my best when you see him,” Lady says, fond in a way Dante totally gets. Nero’s just as headstrong, brash, and scrappy as they used to be, both of ‘em, and reminds them of a wilder time.

“And tell Vergil—”

“If he tries shit, you’ll shoot his nuts off, yeah, yeah I know,” Dante laughs.

“Good boy, I gotta go now but I’ll get back to you on that Hunter, bye Dante,” Lady says.

“Bye Lady,” and the call ends on a pleasant note at least. Now, time to do a little book balancing.

* * *

Trish comes breezing in and out of his life at her leisure. Stopping by to shoot the shit when she’s in town, bringing drinks and a fight when she’s feeling a little too hemmed in by humanity. Sometimes she even calls from wherever she manages to find herself and tells him about all the hot babes she’s sleeping with.

This time…well, he wishes she had a hot babe to rub in his face instead of just a—

“Baby? What do I care about a baby Trish?” he asks, sighs? Whatever. He’s definitely too sober for this but he blew the last of his cash on rent and his next job’s too far away to justify liquor. Being responsible sucks ass.

“He’s Sparda’s kin Dante, there’s no mistaking it,” Trish says, and yeah, he was afraid she’d say that. It’s the only reason she’d call in the middle of the night telling him about a baby. Definitely not his cause he’d _know_ if he had a kid out there.

Trish knows that, but that’s not why she’s calling him.

“Lesser hybrid than you, maybe not even an eighth demon but that is an eighth too much.”

And yeah, Dante gets that. All of Sparda’s kin’s got a target painted on their back, even with Mundus locked away again. Maybe especially?

And, ugh, what’s Trish saying? Dante tugs on his hair, drags a hand down his face. What _is_ Trish saying? Is this random baby Dad’s great-grand kid or something? Dad spent like two bajillion years in the human world, Dante’s got no illusions about all the hanky-panky his old man must’ve had during all that time.

Now Trish’s found one of those and she’s calling him because…oh no. She _can’t_ mean.

“I can’t take care of a baby, Trish!” he blurts before she can say anything else. Maybe too loud, maybe too panicked, but she seriously can’t be thinking _that_.

No way. He’s a mess! He can barely keep the lights on and himself fed. How’d he do all the stuff that babies need done? Oh God, what if he hurt the thing? He’d never forgive himself if he hurt a little baby and—

“Dante! Calm down, I _wasn’t_ going to suggest that,” Trish cuts in before he can spiral into panic. Her voice is sharp, snapping, and uh oh.

He’s cringing down into his chair involuntarily, shoulders creeping up, head ducking, even though she’s not actually there. She’s just on the phone, off in a whole nother country, and she’s not even mad. She’s just. She’s yeah.

“He’s twelve years old and his name is Nero,” Trish says, softer, gentler. She’s not mad. There’s a frown maybe but it’s not at him. His hunched up shoulders drop, slightly, but he still has that queasy “ _I did something wrong. Uh oh_ ” feeling roiling in his stomach.

Trish seriously sounds like Mom.

“He’s an orphan here, no mother or father on record, a nun found him wrapped in a blanket on the church steps,” Trish explains and Dante wonders what she broke into to get those records. The orphanage maybe? This Nero kid is an orphan after all, and no parents, so it’d be hard to actually trace him back to Sparda.

Dante sighs a long, slow breath. Those parents Nero doesn’t have were smart, and they cared at least a little; leaving a part demon on holy ground would hide him for a while. Long enough to grow up and get strong maybe. Dante’s not gonna judge them leaving their kid in the first place, he doesn’t know the details there and who’s to say they weren’t being hunted themselves?

Sparda’s kin always are and it’d be hard to keep a tiny lil baby safe with a demon pack after them. Ditching the kid with some nuns was probably the best thing they could’ve done. Hard maybe but hey, that’s life as a hybrid.

“So what? You want me to come out wherever and check out the kid? Arm him maybe?” Dante suggests, glancing over at some of his swords. Some of them are lesser demons, good starting weapon for a kid maybe. Or, he drops his gaze lower, a dagger?

Twelve. How big’s a twelve-year-old again? Waist high? Lil bit more? Dagger might be a good starting weapon and wouldn’t cut too bad if it slips.

“Mmm, I’m not sure. He’s being fostered by a Knight’s family, and he’s about old enough to start training to become part of the Order so—”

“Wait, Trish, what are you talking about?” he stops her, before she can get too far into her explanation which is making _no_ sense.

The Nero kid’s being fostered by a _knight_? What is this? King Arthur? Is there some chick in a lake flinging swords too? And Order of what?

“Didn’t I say? I’m in a lovely little town called Fortuna where there’s a charming cult that worships Sparda, the Order of the Sword they call themselves,” Trish says, words dripping with so much sugar-sweet sarcasm Dante’s teeth ache. Also, his head, and his jaw from clenching it so hard. Whoops.

Order of the Sword? What in the shitting hell?

There’s a cult in some place called Fortuna that worships his Dad and somehow, they’ve actually got one of Sparda’s descendants living there. Do they _know_? Did Nero’s parents before they dropped him off at this cult’s church?

“They think he’s a God, they have a whole religion dedicated to him, and a whole string of Holy Knights. Nero’s foster father and brother are both Knights of the Order and Nero wants to be just like them,” Trish finishes all blasé because of course she does. She must find weirdo cults worshiping demons all the time, practically tripping over them.

“Right so, why’re you telling me this?” Dante asks before he forgets and punches a hole in the wall. Again. Plaster’s pretty expensive, who’d’ve thought right?

“I like to keep you updated, and thought you’d like to know.”

Yeah, uh huh, sure that’s it.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” he mutters, and wonders where he can find a map with Fortuna on it. Library maybe? Morrison?

“You’re a terrible liar, Dante,” Trish laughs and hangs up on him.

* * *

Nero and Kyrie live in, what Dante very generously calls, the suburbs of Fortuna. Away from the ongoing restoration of the main town, where the church was, but still properly inside the city. Sure, it’s not as fancy as the suburbs back home but it’s in the right area and there’s more than one family living on the little dead-end street so, semantics.

The house is a two-story affair with an attached garage and a garden in the back, it’s a nice place. The kinda place that shows up in those feel good summertime specials with the sugar-sweet traditional family of a mommy and a daddy and the little kiddies. Dante used to be so jealous of that, back when he was scrounging around as a ward of the State.

Now he’s just real glad Nero can have something like this. A partner, a handful of kids, and a Nicoletta to keep things cosy.

“Happy Holidays!” Dante crows as soon as Kyrie lets him in through the back while Nero and Vergil talk in front.

The kids, because they’re kids, come barrelling right into him; three little lumps of shouting holiday joy that Dante can’t help laughing with. The littlest one, Carlo, immediately makes grabby hands, and Dante swings him up onto his shoulders. Kyle, the second littlest, scrambles up onto his back, and Julio, the big kid, hangs onto his belt and shakes the bells on it for all he’s worth.

It's a cacophony of Italian and English that Dante can barely keep up with, and when Nicoletta pokes her head in, her southern twang joins the fray.

And that’s all _great_ because it puts all the attention on him. The kids, Kyrie, and Nicoletta all clamouring and yammering at him takes the heat off Vergil and Nero over in the other room long enough for them to have a chat. A chat that was _Dante’s_ idea thanks very much. Cause yeah, they’ve all kissed and made up, Vergil apologised for ripping off Nero’s arm, Nero forgave Vergil for most of his shit, and they’re on the road to family, but still.

This is the place Vergil started his latest fuck up, and it’s the holidays, emotions are gonna run high. So, Dante convinced his dear, darling brother to apologise to Nero, again, and promise to not do anything fucked up while they’re here. Think of the kids, and Kyrie, he’d _ruin_ the holidays if he started shit. Dante is still shocked that worked.

“Okay, who wants presents first?” Dante asks, shouting to get heard over the laughing and chattering.

Three voices yell “Me!” and one stops itself, remembering that they’re not a kid anymore. Dante spares Nicoletta a grin, and winks as she fiddles with her sweater sleeves. An ugly holiday sweater might he add, blue knit with white dreidels, that got cut into a crop top just to stay on brand.

“Let’s see what I’ve got in my sack here,” Dante drawls, swinging the actual sack off his shoulder, onto the only bit of spare counter space he can find. Everything else is covered with dishes and plates and things cooling; the table is practically bowing under the weight of the cutlery alone.

“Hmm, something for Miss Kyrie,” Dante says, handing her a crisply wrapped box. Vergil’s work of course, and Vergil’s choice too; Dante never would’ve thought to get her a broach of all things.

She takes it with a bubbly “thank you” but doesn’t open it. Which is fine, he figures she’ll wait till she’s got some time to appreciate it. Then there’s a sloppily wrapped present for, “Ms Goldstein” who snatches it so quick Dante almost loses a finger.

Nicoletta, unlike Kyrie, doesn’t bother waiting. She rips the paper away, then the protective cloth, and her eyes go huge when she realises what’s in her hands.

“T-t-thank you!” she stutters, running shaky fingers along the flat of the dagger. And Dante grins, glad she actually likes it, was kinda worried she wouldn’t care about natural devil arms, what with her artificial ones. But nope, Nell’s grandkid’s just about beside herself and Dante gives himself a mental pat on the back for picking right.

Next are the kid-kids, with Lady and Trish’s help respectively. Julio and Kyle seem to like the action figures well enough, though Dante’s got no idea who the red devil or the red merc are. And Carlo can give Nicoletta a run for her money with how big his eyes get when he unwraps his new plush cat. A huge, squishy thing Vergil insisted they get, for Carlo of course.

By the time the kids settle back down, and Nicoletta and Dante help Kyrie transfer all the food to the table, Nero and Vergil are done with their talk. There’s nothing tense about them, nothing that suggests Dante get in between them, so he figures it was a success.

“Happy Holidays kid,” Dante says as Nero takes his seat at the head of the table and Vergil settles in across from Dante. With all seven of them it’s a tight squeeze but it’s cosy too. Nicoletta to his left in her ugly sweater, Verge in his usual get up ft a reindeer headband. Dante in his own get up ft Santa hat and jingle bell belt that’s only a lot annoying.

Then the kids in adorable little winter themed outfits with snowflakes and reindeer that match with Nero and Kyrie’s slightly more dignified white and green knit sweaters. Though, Nero _does_ have a couple red berries around the collar and cuffs, looking like a punk candy cane. Just about gives him the warm fuzzies.

“Where’s my present, Dante?” Nero asks, a little too eager, eyes all bright and Verge hides a smile behind his collar. Oh. _Oh_.

Traitor.

“Told you I didn’t get you anything,” Dante lies, gripping the bag tight under the table. Not that it matters when his traitor brother cuts a hole and snatches the last present anyway.

Vergil tosses, Nero catches, and Dante pouts all in one smooth, Sparda patented move.

“Aw, you _shouldn’t_ have,” Nero says, all smarmy and smug while Dante pouts harder. Then, with more restraint than Dante was expecting, Nero tears away a strip of paper, just enough to show off blue leather and fur before silver-green eyes snap up to him, actually shocked.

And now it’s his turn to be smug.

“Shall we say Grace?” Kyrie suggests before either of them can say anything, with all the poise and careful force of every mother figure ever. Hands fly onto the table and Nero’s present gets chucked into the living room, landing neatly on the couch for later.

“Bless us, O Lord Sparda, and these,” Kyrie says in her clear voice and Dante bites his lip just about bloody to stop himself laughing like a jackass. And, he’s very happy to see Vergil fighting a smile just as hard across the table. Happy Holidays indeed.

* * *

He names the place Devil May Cry cause it’s as good a name as any and it’s true. Just like Lady said. Even a devil may cry when he loses a loved one.

Except, he hasn’t lost anything this time. Except, except he’s _gained_ something for once. He, him Dante, has a relative living in some place his Dad used to visit and where…where Vergil stopped at on his “ _More Power World Tour_ ”. This is _great!_ This is **_awesome!_**

Dante’s got family again. Maybe a little more distant than he thought it’d be but hey, beggars can’t be choosers. And shit, he should really thank Trish, she’s a great partner, even if she can’t stick around as much as he’d like. He should send her a fruit basket or something for finding the place, and the kid, and she even has proof Verge’s been there so…

So, why’s he crying so hard it _hurts_?

God he’s _sobbing_ and it’s dragging through his chest like razor blades, hacking at his bones, slicing through delicate tissue. He have expects to taste blood but no, only thing in his mouth is a low, keening noise. A hurt animal noise that he chokes back down best he can.

Shit. _Shit_.

He can barely see through the tears burning their way out of him, but he’s gotta—Trish sent all these pictures of the kid. Nero, his name’s Nero and Trish’s been spying on him and she sent these photos back to Dante. And now they’re scattered across his desk while he swipes at the tears that just won’t fucking stop.

All he can do is throw an arm over his eyes and try to breathe. In, out, force it through the animal noises and _breathe_.

Trish wants him to come out to Fortuna, to take a look for himself. Because Nero’s good. He’s a natural with a sword and he’s an ace with hand-to-hand and he’s got the blood deep demon stink on him. Trish says. She can smell it when he bleeds, smell it welling up in bruises. There’s no mistaking what that child is but whose child is the real question.

Because there’s a picture on Dante’s desk of Nero, little twelve-year-old Nero, smirking at an opponent at least a foot taller than him. And Nero, the kid, is wearing a blue hoodie that looks too heavy for training, but Trish says he refuses to take it off. And, most damning of all, is the stance, the way he’s holding that practice sword.

The thing’s wood, it’s just for learning forms, getting a feel for moving with a weapon, but it’s cut like a double hander with some heft and the kid’s…well the kid’s holding it like something much lighter. Leveraging the weight at the hip with a stance that’s all too familiar and another wretched noise cuts its way past Dante’s trembling lips.

 ** _Vergil_**. The kid looks like Vergil okay? Fuckin kid looks like Vergil and Dante doesn’t know what to think.

Well no, that’s a damn lie. He knows exactly what to think, he just doesn’t want to. He one hundred percent does not want to. Because Vergil’s dead. Dead by Dante’s hand even, and how the hell’d Dante even start to explain that to a kid?

Hey, listen, we’re family, actually I think I might be your uncle, and no sorry I can’t tell you where your dad is. Well, I can but it’s not—he’s not—he’s dead. Your dad’s dead and I killed him. Sorry kid.

“Fuck,” Dante whispers, and the tears never stop leaking past his arm, never stop streaking down his cheeks.

* * *

Nero’s house isn’t anything fancy, for all that it’s in the suburbs and has enough room for a family of five. There’s really only four bedrooms, two originally with one added on when the kids showed up, and one more for Nico. It’s snug, and seriously different from what Dante’s ever used to.

Growing up it was in the mansion. More bedrooms than they knew what to do with and studies and the big library. It was huge, and great for hide-and-seek— _except when it really mattered_ —but not really snug. The orphanage he ended up in afterwards didn’t really have separate rooms for all the kids, more of a dormitory affair.

And the shop’s the furthest thing from snug, so this is different, but nice.

Dante can hear five sets of slow, sleep addled breathing with the resting heartbeats to match, and then two odd men out. Vergil next to him and Nero upstairs with Kyrie. And Dante doesn’t gotta ask why.

Three demon hybrids in a house is three too many honestly, and it doesn’t matter that they’re kin or that they should be used to each other. The old instincts are just about screaming in his head about getting out, getting away, and defending himself.

“Dante,” Vergil starts, and stops.

“Vergil,” Dante answers, and waits.

Neither of them need much sleep, way less than a human or even Nero. Dante’s gone weeks on a poor handful before, and he’s sure Verge’s done more on less.

They get up as one, legs swinging over the side of the pull-out couch/bed Kyrie made up for them. She was so sweet about it too, asking if they were sure they’d be alright with it, and Dante just didn’t have the heart to tell her a pull-out was luxury compared to some of the places he’d slept before. It was downright royal compared to the nooks he’d crammed himself into down in Hell, with his brother pressed up close, back to back so nothing could sneak up on them.

“Going for a walk kid,” Dante says, keeping his voice low but he knows Nero can hear him. Kid’s got sharp ears.

“Don’t stray too far,” Nero mumbles back, rolling over in bed, probably snuggling closer to his sweetheart. And he can’t say why, maybe it’s just cause he’s a sap, but Dante doesn’t fight the smile twitching across his lips as he pulls back on his boots. And Vergil doesn’t comment on it as they head for the backdoor.

Heading out into the cool night is an instant balm across his jumping nerves. The air’s clear out there, even just outside the house, and one deep breath clears Nero’s scent out of his nose. Another one fills it with Vergil but that’s not so bad, it’s just a shade or two off from his own and he can deal.

“Wanna see where Sanctus ate shit?” Dante asks after a minute of quiet, glancing up at the clear sky.

“Why not?” Verge shrugs and off they go. Dante leading, Vergil a half step behind.

Fortuna winter’s milder than what they get back home, no snow, but the breezes blowing off the ocean is sharp. Even far enough inland to not see or hear the thing, the wind cuts straight to the bone and Dante tucks his mittened hands deep in his pockets. They’re a great gift, red mitts handknit by Ms Kyrie herself, and Vergil got blue.

Add a truly spectacular dinner and Dante feels pretty spoiled right now. A walk’s the perfect thing to work off some of the food coma lethargy though and it’s not too bad, wind aside. The streets are dark, and empty, and they ain’t too many lighted windows even if it ain’t too late. Barely midnight and the whole city’s already settled down.

But hey, it’s a perfect kinda atmosphere. Walking in a soft silence with Vergil by his side, it’s pretty nice.

The further they go, closer to the centre of the city, the roads get worse. Pavement’s all cracked and broken, asphalt's torn up and pockmarked. Some of it’s from the ongoing construction and the huge vehicles moving in and out all the time, some’s from the fight even so many years later. Further, closer, and there’s chunks of statue they gotta detour around, climbing over some of it, running along walls to get around bits of it.

One chunk’s so huge it blocks the whole street, and Dante’s getting ready to jump it when Verge cuts it to bits with Yamato. One second there’s a huge chunk of statue thigh, Dante blinks, and it’s all fist sized rubble laying neatly on the ground.

Vergil smirks, Dante rolls his eyes and sighs as loud as any annoying little brother should, and they keep going. Probably further in than most of the restoration teams have gotten, right up into the cathedral where the whole Sanctus debacle started.

“So, picture if you will, a blowhard old man dressed all holy right up there.”

He sets the scene as they scope out a pew that’s not too damaged and find one halfway up the aisle. Though, Dante doesn’t sit, he continues all the way to pulpit with his usual charm and smarm. Up-up to the railing he’d leaped down onto and crouched on before the batshit geezer could start a prayer about their father.

“And the brainwashed faithful gathered all around,” he throws his arms wide to encompass the whole place, “ready to worship their Lord and Saviour, Sparda.”

The statue’s gone, which is probably for the best. He and Nero did one helluva number on it with their fight.

“Then, look to the skies, through the glass stained with all their sins, a man comes crashing through. Falling like a wrathful God come to punish and bringing the unrelenting sunlight with him.”

It truly takes all of his self-control _not_ to shoot out the panes still up there. Even if no one’d mind too much or notice until they’re long gone. In his audience of one, Vergil’s got his slightly amused smile on, tipped up ever so subtly at the corners. He’s enjoying this as much as Dante cause they’re both dramatic shits under all the other stuff.

They both like making a scene and putting on a show and being as over the top as physically possible. Sometimes they even manage to go past physical possibilities.

“There’s shock, there’s awe, there’s the holyman’s blood splattered across that God’s face. Brains blown out, skull caved in, all from one bullet from one gun, this gun,” he whips out Ivory and spins it round before holstering him again, “The guards draw swords and attack, to avenge His Holiness of course, and they all meet the same fate as he. Cut down by a sword far superior to their weapons of persecution.”

Oh yeah, he’s really getting into the spirit now. Sauntering back and forth across the space, turning just sharp enough that his coat flares out and his hair flops in his eyes. If he tries hard enough, maybe he can bang something out on the organ for that Phantom of the Opera vibe.

“But what’s this? A challenger approaches, not to avenge the Sanctimonious Sycophant, but to protect his lady love.”

Was that the right way to use sycophant? Eh maybe not but it goes so good not even Vergil can say anything about it. He’s leaning forward now, Vergil is, elbows on his knees, head cocked to the side as he takes in the inaugural production of “ _From Sinners to Saints; a Tale as Old as Time_ ”.

“A dropkick to the face and two bullets from his gun and a wholly new fight breaks out. A God and a boy who’s never believed. Sword matches sword, bullet deflects bullet, until in one wild blur of effort, that boy impales that God on the statue of the Devil.”

There’s no statue and no Rebellion anymore but Dante does his best to recreate it. Summons a fiery red sword, throws his arms wide, and slides the very tip of the blade just under that first layer of skin. Enough to force out a trickle of blood that creeps its warm way down his chest. It’ll be a hassle to get the blood out of his shirt later but he thinks it’s worth it for the slightest widening of Vergil’s eyes.

“And in that single moment of pain, elation, and rage, that God remembers another time such as this. When this very same sword was oh so lovingly jammed through his chest and another white haired bastard sneered at him with all the arrogance in the world. So, could it possibly be? Dare he even hope that this boy is that man’s so—”

Vergil slaps a hand over his mouth before he can finish his soliloquy and Dante’s grateful. He’s so god damn grateful.

* * *

Dante never does approach Nero, he doesn’t think he can. The maybes and the what-ifs and the “ _could he really’s?”_ gnaw on his guts like a parasite, spitting up noxious bile that just eats right through his resolve every time.

Trish keeps an eye on the kid though, sends him pictures every once in a while. Dante knows about Nero’s training as a Knight in the Order of his Dad, he knows when Nero gets hurt trying to save some girl. He knows that the kid wears a cast now, though Trish doesn’t think it’s because the arm’s still broke.

Dante even knows Nero’s gonna be there when he crashes down into the cathedral, he wishes the kid wouldn’t be, but hey, them’s the breaks. He’s kinda surprised Nero didn’t deck him then and there but he shoulda figured the little punk wouldn’t give two shits about his Holy Douchebagness. And, in Dante’s defence, he _wasn’t_ gonna hurt the Kyrie girl. He just wanted a look at her, in person and all.

So, there’s a fight, more fighting, Yamato fixes herself to help Nero and Dante leaves her with the kid because he figures it’s where she belongs. Even if it does sting knowing she really doesn’t want him. Though, who can really blame her? He slew her last master and even if she wasn’t there for that, eh she’s a loyal sword, she knows.

She’s also smart, definitely smarter than him.

“You’re really not gonna tell him?” Lady asks when they’re back at the shop after the Fortuna Mishap. Fortuna Mishap sounds better in his head than Fortuna Fuck-Up, takes a little bit of the blame off even though it should be fully on.

He’s working on the “ _blaming himself for every bad lucky thing that happens around him because half of it’s **not** your fault Dante_” stuff. And if that needling voice in his head sounds like Lady for the most part then good, she’s the one all obsessed with getting his self-image somewhere healthy. She’s also the one staring him down over a box of pizza and sharing covert looks with Trish.

“And drag him into this wacky wahoo bullshit? Hard pass, Lady,” he scoffs and swipes the last slice with pineapples. Just his luck that Lady _and_ Trish like pineapple on their pizza too.

And just his luck that they both know him too well to get fooled. Lady rolls her eyes, Trish snorts, and Dante sighs.

Should he’ve told Nero? Yeah most probably. Everybody deserves to know where they came from and Nero’s a smart kid, he’s probably been making some connections but he’s the type that’s gotta hear it.

Had to hear it from the devil’s mouth that there was something a little inhuman in him. Had to hear it that Sanctus was a bag of dogshit. Had to hear it that he could do it, that he could win. So yeah, he’s gotta hear it from Dante directly that he’s related to Sparda too. Maybe as close as a grandson, maybe as far as a great-great-grandson, who’s to really say?

Not Dante. Cause he’s not gonna, even if he should.

“At least tell him who that sword belongs to, he deserves to know if he’s gonna keep it,” Lady says, stealing his drink like the crook she is.

Trish looks over lazily, meeting his eyes with a slow wink. She heard that then. Him telling Nero about his brother but that’s all he told the kid. They were busy, sue him or whatever. Not like he had the time to get into the tragedy of his life or anything.

Sure they’ve got time now and the kid’s just a phone call away but…well, Dante’s never been good with the heart to hearts. If there’s no alcohol around— _fuck vodka, never again_ —then he’s gonna fumble and stutter and undercut everything with a joke halfway through because being serious is for people with healthy coping mechanisms. He is not and probably ain’t ever gonna be one of those people.

And does he tell Lady that? No. Of course not. What he does is kick his feet up on the desk, kick the cup out of her hand, and catch it before she can.

“I told him it was my brother’s and seeing how my brother’s dancing with the maggot these days, I think it’s pretty okay for the kid to keep,” Dante shrugs, swallowing down that bitter bile, “and Yamato likes him, doubt she’d stick around with me anyway.”

Instinct ducks his head and avoids Lady’s whapping hand. He _actively_ backflips away from her second whap and lands as gracelessly as possible on Trish.

“Bull _shit_ , Dante.”

Uh-oh. Lady’s mad now, all squinted eyes fury, and he doesn’t know if it’s cause she thinks he lied or if she’s pissed he didn’t have the balls to tell the kid more. Could be both. Might be both.

“What?! You want me to give him the whole sob story about Vergil and the Temen-ni-gru?” he yells, louder than he means to, _shit_. But, ugh, God _damn_ it.

He’s had a helluva week. Fighting with Yamato, meeting Nero, facing down another part of Dad’s past. Hell, why’s it always him dealing with shit the old man left behind? Mundus, the Temen-ni-gru, those Order fuckers, _Argosax_. It’s always somethin’.

And now there’s someone who doesn’t know him through Sparda, at least not like _that_ , and Lady wants him to bring up Vergil. Can’t he get this one person putting up with him for himself? No Vergil, no Sparda, no Eva, just Dante.

“Or maybe I should tell him how I murdered his dad to put the poor bastard out of his misery? Not like the kid don’t got enough tragedy on his plate. Demon blood, no mom, wrecked town, and oh yeah, dead dad now too,” and Lady flinches, shoulders hunching and…low blow.

Trish kicks him off, onto the floor, and Dante deserved that. He totally deserved that. Damn it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—I shouldn’t’ve said that. I’m sorry, Lady,” he says, quick before she shoots him in the face. Quick before it can really sink in because he didn’t mean it. Not like that.

Lady’s situation was totally different, except not really, and he’s such a dick.

“I’m…giving you a pass just this once because things are complicated right now,” Lady says slowly, piecing out the words, thinking them over. She thinks before she says shit, cause she’s got the emotional maturity for shit like that. Sometimes Dante’s obscenely jealous of that.

“But next time I’ll rip out your tongue.”

And yeah, totally deserved that, but hey, she does stalk over and help him up so he figures apology accepted. Even if he’ll continue to feel like shit about it for weeks.

* * *

Dante wakes up with the smell of breakfast the next morning, tucked in too tight under the blanket, held a little too crushing for comfort, but he doesn’t try to wiggle away. Not when Verge’s actually hugging him for once, conscious or not.

They wandered the city last night, away from the cathedral after his impromptu performance, and out to the sea. Well, more like they flew out to the sea, racing each other through the clouds, laughing and roughhousing like kids again. It was nice.

Splashed around in the water for a while, built up a sandcastle and dug a couple tunnels. The breeze _was_ colder closer to the water, but it was refreshing mostly. Far away from humans and all their lights, it was like they were the only two things for miles. Blue and red flickers in the dark, swooping and whooping as show-offy as they liked.

Getting up the resolve to leave was hard. He didn’t _wanna_ leave. Not when Verge was actually cutting loose for once and just having fun. Who’d ever wanna leave that and risk never getting it back?

But, they had to. They’d promised Nero two days and Dante was gonna give the kid two days with his demon family. So, for once he had to be the adult and drag Vergil back to the house. And by the time they got there, the sun was just about ready to break over the horizon.

Creeping in while Nero was dead asleep was better, easier to get to sleep themselves when the threat was way reduced. And after they’d worked off all that electric energy buzzing in their blood.

“Oh, good morning,” Kyrie murmurs from the doorway, stepping into the living room in a downright adorable apron. It’s got little robin birds on it the same colour as her hair and if that ain’t the homeliest thing. Dante’ll bet actual money Nero got that for her.

“Morning,” he half whispers from his spot on the couch, being held prisoner by the world’s clingiest demon. Geeze, if Verge ever tried this in one of their actual fights, he’d never stand a chance.

Octopus brother aside though, Kyrie looks far too chipper for whatever o’clock this is, the girl’s the personification of the early bird. But it’s charming, on her. There’s lots that’s charming on her, Dante gets why Nero loves her so much.

“How was you trip last night?” she asks so casually Dante almost forgets she was asleep when they left. And asleep when they got back. No way she could’ve known they left the house, and no way Nero told her.

If this was Lady, he’d think she was fishing for information to charge him for something. If it was Trish, he’d swear she was gonna start ragging on him for not bringing her along, but this is Kyrie. Nero’s life partner who’s survived some pretty shitty situations and came out smiling. She’s got genuine goodness in spades.

Dante almost tells her the truth, almost.

“Eh wasn’t anything special, we just took a walk down the street to take in the sights,” he shrugs, and gets Vergil’s hand in his face for his efforts.

And Kyrie, the ray of absolute sunshine, smiles all soft and motherly, tucks a bit of hair behind her ear and, “You don’t have to lie you know, I don’t mind that you left and neither does Nero.”

Geeze, is he really _that_ bad at lying? Seems like everyone’s been calling him out on it the last few weeks. Nero, Vergil, Lady, Trish, now Kyrie? He seriously has to up his game. He’s got a reputation after all and what kinda legend’d he be if he couldn’t tell a few white lies?

“Yeah alright, you got me, we took a trip down to the cathedral then out to the sea,” he says as blithely as possible. No big deal, they didn’t do anything _wrong_.

They’d left the cathedral the way they found it and there weren’t no laws or anything saying they couldn’t go playing on the beach at night. Alright maybe there was something about trespassing and breaking and entering but who really gave a shit about those? Oh it’s illegal to wander around a broken down church? Who even cares?

Kyrie’s smile never slips, never wavers, but Dante gets this idea that she’s relieved. That he told the truth? That they didn’t go hunting down the last bits of the Order to punish them for messing up Dad’s good name? Eh, whichever.

“That sounds lovely, maybe when the restorations are complete, we can all visit,” she suggests, hands clasped neatly at her stomach. And…and Dante kinda forgot she was a church girl.

She actually liked the whole church thing, sermons, mass, praying, the whole shebang, unlike his punk ass nephew. He wonders if she still prays to the Sparda now that she’s living with his actual descendent. Heh, if she had any of that good ole fanaticism left, she was probably over the moon when Nero told her.

Does he wanna go to a church for actual church things? No guns, no guts, no glory? No he does not, but Kyrie’s smiling so earnest and kind that he really can’t say no to her. Just one word but he can’t say it. Geeze, he really is getting soft.

“Yeah, we’ll make a day of it,” Dante says, wiggling just enough to get a hand free.

“Scout’s honour,” he adds, giving her a lazy salute and wink for good measure. And there goes her mega-watt smile. This girl, she sure is something else, and Dante’s never been more proud of Nero for finding himself someone so damn great.

“I’ll hold you to it, now, would you like some breakfast? The bacon’s almost done.”

And if those aren’t the magic words. Vergil grumbles and snarls when he wiggles some more but sorry bro, bacon’s on the line. Then, as slick as ever, he rolls right off the pull-out and onto the floor, taking the sheets with him and dragging Verge down too.

“Dante!” Vergil snaps, bleary eyes narrowed, mussed hair sticking right up.

“Vergil!” Dante beams, patting his brother on the cheek before bolting up and over to the kitchen with the lovely Ms Kyrie.

* * *

He’s in a shatter-shard version of his childhood home, and his brother’s dying on the floor, V dying on his chest.

He’s got his heart in his throat and his heart dropping through his stomach, and his brother’s looking around as healthy as he barely remembers.

He’s desperate, he’s so fucking _desperate_. To keep Nero safe, to finish Vergil’s bullshit before it starts, to make sure at least _some_ part of his family survives this.

Because Vergil might kill Nero. Because Nero **_wants_** to kill Vergil. Because Dante’s gonna have to kill his brother ~~again~~ and his brother’ll probably run him through until he’s a wet smear on the floor.

And there’s no time to explain things to Nero. There was plenty of fucking time when he was sitting on his ass twiddling his thumbs and making excuses. About how Nero didn’t deserve the heartache and how Nero was already doing so great, and how Nero, _Nero, **Nero**_. When it was Dante, _Dante, **Dante**_.

“Go home, Nero. This doesn’t concern you,” he tries. He tries one last time because this is him and this is Vergil and this _isn’t_ Nero.

“This is not your fight,” desperate, oh fuck he’s desperate. Vergil took Nero’s arm. Vergil just…he just ripped it off and fuck maybe Yamato helped!

What does Dante know? Nothing. Maybe she was just biding her time with the lesser of two evils, waiting for her actual master to come get her. Maybe she was leading Vergil to her, back to her, right to the kid.

This really is all Dante’s fault.

Keep it in the family? Nero’s family, but he’s not…he’s…

“What is it then?!” Nero yells, roars, like the howl of blood in Dante’s ears. Rushing, pulsing, beating in his head, right in time with his aching heart and he can’t think. He can’t. Why shouldn’t Nero go?

No. What’ll make Nero _stay_?

“He’s your father!”

He’s a terrible liar. He’s a terrible liar. He’s a terrible liar. Nero’ll see through this. Nero won’t believe it. Nero—

**_"What!?"_ **

Sceptical, suspicious, doubting. Nero doesn’t believe it, but not because he thinks Dante’s lying. Nero doesn’t believe it because he doesn’t want it to be true but he’s afraid it _is_.

“No,” Nero breathes, barely a word, and this is Dante’s chance. For him to say no. For him to kill the bitter lie on his sour tongue and find some other way to get the kid to stay here and away from Vergil.

“I had a feeling the first time I saw you, but I just wasn’t sure,” but Dante doesn’t. He lies with the truth, twists it around until it rips into the delicate inside of his mouth instead of the wet slide of his gullet.

There’s blood on every word, a lie in every breath, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t. There’s no time for something else and Nero’s too caught up in his own revelations to notice the speckle of gore on Dante’s lips. Which is good. Helps sell it.

“And then I saw how Yamato reacted…and I was certain. He’s your father.”

Part of him wants Nero to realise, to hear the tremor under all that confidence. He wants Nero to rip him a new one right now but Nero doesn’t.

He’s stunned. He’s wide grey-green eyes and a slack jaw and prosthetic fingers twitching sympathetically. Nero’s locked in place, stuck in his spot, and that’s what Dante wanted right? Nero to not go. Not come after him.

Right? Right.

“Now, he needs an ass-kicking…but I can’t have you go kill your old man,” and with that, he leaves, because he can’t stay. Nero will figure it out if he stays so Dante’s gotta go.

Deal with his brother. Kill his brother, or get killed. And maybe save the world, who knows?

For the second time, Dante leaves Nero behind, only there’s no family heirloom to gift him this time. He doesn’t have a joke, doesn’t got any advice, doesn’t even have a smile for the kid, just a pat on the shoulder before he saunters off to someone’s death.

Nero’s quiet “my father?” echoes after him.

* * *

When Nero and the kids make it down, eventually, everything’s about finished. Kyrie’s pretty efficient and has a System™ that Dante slots into with only a few fumbles. Vergil pouts on the floor for a few minutes before he joins them, with no fumbles at all which is unfair, but Dante doesn’t say anything.

“Thank you, Kyrie,” the boys all chorus, holding out plates for eggs and bacon and pancakes and toast. It’s a lot of food, more’n Dante’s ever made and he’s kinda wondering if this is a holiday special or an everyday thing. Yikes if it’s every day.

“Dante and Vergil helped too,” Kyrie says, smiling just a little wicked, mischievous? Well, the girl can’t be all gumdrops and rainbows, and Dante really, really likes her.

If only for Nero’s sour smile and grit teeth, “thanks Dante, Father.”

Vergil, who’s drinking his chocolate coffee, pauses, caught in the headlights for a second before he nods. He’s still gets all skittish when Nero calls him that, “Father”. Doesn’t matter that they’ve been back for months now, hanging around, getting used to each other. Every time Nero reminds Vergil that yeah, this is how things are now, Vergil tenses up.

Dante does too, of course he does, but he likes to think he’s more subtle about it. He can smile around the barbed truth in his throat and he can swallow it back down with a jaunty wink. But hey, he gets it. Verge’s lived a whole different life where he’s never had to hide much, lies aren’t easy for him.

It'll get easier, Dante thinks, like everything else. Lying’s a skill and Verge’s good at picking up those.

“No problem kid, it’s nice spending some quality time with my niece-in-law to be,” he says after the awkwardness’s had time to percolate. Funny man, that’s him. He’s here to undercut everything with a bad joke and some wacky wahoo bullshit.

Kyrie, because she’s a doll, blushes the sweetest, summer pink, and Nero flushes red immediately. Ducking his face down into a scarf that’s not there anymore and swiping at his nose.

“Shut up, Dante,” Nero grumbles, but there’s a smile tugging at those pursed lips, right there under the blush. Daw, the kid’s just adorable. And doesn’t notice the very meaningful look his father exchanges with his uncle.

They’re…gonna have to talk about this soon. Maybe even tomorrow when they’re back in the shop, but not now. Dante jerks his head “ _no_ ”, definitely not now.

“Hey, save some for us kid!” Dante complains, not breaking his brother’s gaze. “ _Not here Vergil_ ”.

A cocked brow, narrowed eyes, and Vergil nods, “ _have it your way Dante_ ”.

Then Dante turns to fight his nephew for some of the scrambled eggs.

* * *

“Thank you, Nero,” Vergil said. Right after Urizen and V merged back into one asshole.

 _Thank you, Nero_.

Dante can’t stop thinking about it. Vergil’s never wanted to hurt anyone, well not anyone who didn’t get in his way. Civilian casualties were unfortunate, but he wouldn’t lose any sleep over them. In the wrong place at the wrong time and Vergil might pity you, but it wouldn’t stop him.

What would?

 _Thank you, Nero_.

He finds Trish and Lady halfway up-down the tree. Trish looking better, Lady pissed as hell. At least they’ll walk away from this. He’s just sorry he doesn’t get to give them a proper goodbye, or thanks for everything.

The best he can do is beat his brother and hope they find Nero on the way out. And maybe they know that. Trish staring after him with his mother’s eyes and Lady giving him one last smile before he triggers and Nicoletta drives them right off a cliff.

V’s pets are still around, stalking between the roots and Dante knows what they are. Still, it’s nice to hear Griffon say it. And nice to have a repeat of Mallet island to get him in the mood again.

Then, then there’s only Vergil.

On a throne of a tree that Mundus used to take power. On a throne, looking down at his little brother again. Dante tries, because he’s stupid like that, to get Vergil to stop here and now. Asks for Yamato because that’s easier than asking Vergil to just step down. His brother doesn’t need their father’s devil arm anymore, Yamato is useful but not a necessity and maybe…

“If you want her, then you’ll have to take her,” Vergil says, as if they don’t both know that’s never gonna happen. Dante could win this fight, he could win every fight, and Yamato would never accept him as a master.

But she’s just a proxy, isn’t she? Something to talk around so they don’t have to talk to each other. They’ve been like this ever since they were kids. Though it’s a lie that fighting’s the only thing he remembers.

Eating Mom’s pie when they shouldn’t, hunting for berries in the forest, climbing trees and splashing in the river. Playing hide-and-seek in the library, learning to read then reading to each other, drinking big mugs of hot chocolate and sleeping in blanket forts together. There’s so much more Dante remembers, even if it was thirty-five years and a different life ago.

But he doesn’t say that. He says, “Time to finish this” instead, and draws his sword.

Then they’re fighting, again. Like they’ve been fighting since they could stand, since they found each other again, since they lost one another ~~again~~. They’re fighting and Vergil is strong. Fuck, he’s too strong.

Dante has Rebellion in his veins now, welding his demon to his human bones and forcing them to play nice. But Vergil has that fruit. He’s got it stuck in his throat, bobbing with every mid-battle swallow and pant. And it’s making him strong, it’s given him the power he’s been looking for all his life long.

And Dante doesn’t know if he can win this. What happens if he doesn’t? To Lady and Trish and…and Nero?

_Thank you, Nero._

“You cut off your own son’s arm for **_this_ _?!_** ”

It’s a long shot, it’s a desperate shot. It’s not cleaning the smut from the barrel, not aiming, firing blind and—

“My son…means nothing to me!”

—still hitting point-blank bullseye.

* * *

“Hey Dante, you got a minute?” Nero asks just after lunch, while Nicoletta’s picking Vergil’s brain for devil arm ideas and Kyrie’s watching tv with the kids.

There’s nothing weird in his voice and no reason to think something’s wrong but…but Nero never really asks these things. He says what’s on his mind and lets everybody play catch up, except for Kyrie but that’s expected. _This_ isn’t.

They’re alone in the kitchen, wiping down dishes, and Dante thinks maybe the kid did it on purpose. Cornered him away from the rest of the house to what? Not fight. There’s no reason to fight. Thank him for the gift then?

“Sure kid,” he says, wiping his hands on the dishtowel. Nero has dishtowels in his house, fancy.

“Actually, can we talk outside? Away from,” a vague handwave at the living room full of people, “everybody? It’s kinda uh sensitive.”

Well now he’s worried. And is he really the best one to talk to about “ _sensitive_ ” things? Eh, no time to reconsider because Nero’s already slipping out the kitchen door, the same one him and Vergil used last night. Dante almost wants to call Vergil, tell him they’ll be outside, but he doesn’t cause Verge probably heard them right?

Right. So Dante follows Nero out and…where’s Nero? Not by the side of the house, not down by the road, look up and…there’s Nero.

“Think you can keep up, old man?” Nero taunts, holding himself perfectly still about fifteen feet in the air. Those spectral wings of his don’t put out much, no noise, no demon aura, they barely show up in the skittering winter sun.

“Sure kid,” Dante says, smug this time, and triggers.

Vergil definitely knows they’re out here now, Dante’s trigger is impossible to hide, and one powerful downbeat puts him five feet above Nero. So he can sneer down at the kid of course, doesn’t matter if his hide’s tougher now and doesn’t convey emotion right, Nero knows what he's going for. An exaggerated roll of the eyes and they’re off.

Nero’s quicker than him, gains altitude hard and fast, but Dante’s stronger. He gets up higher, following from up top where it’s easier to spot spectral blue against the mostly green backdrop. The few clouds snuggling by hide Nero a couple times but when the kid triggers the rest of the way mid-swoop, there’s no missing him.

Vergil’s always been a flashbang of awareness, always on Dante’s radar; triggered or not, he’s always been able to spot his brother. When Vergil **_is_** Vergil that is. Nero is electric, a static fuzz buzz in the back of his head, like the seconds of radio silence before the beat drops. Now it’s reversed, kind of, a little bit.

Vergil’s a constant now, a low-level warning blaring away. And Nero’s the lightning strike.

Which is a pretty good comparison for when they finally land somewhere on the edge of the forest, between it, the mountain, and the ocean. When they settle back into their human skins, but Nero’s spectral arms stay out and the kid looks him full in the face and says,

“Vergil’s not my father.”

There’s no boom, there’s no warning. It’s just a lightning strike that locks his flexing muscles and tries to ground itself through his body.

He should be doing damage control right now. Talking Nero down from this, away from whatever made him think that. He should _say_ something but the current’s got his jaw crunched tight and he can’t open it even a little bit.

“There’s just—none of it makes sense and…how’d you know? You coulda told me any time in the last five years but you wait until then to tell me?” Nero’s rambling now, stalking up and down in a little circuit.

Step, step, turn, step, step, turn. His hands fly up, making points, powered by a frantic kinda energy, almost panicked but not there yet. Yet. There’s still time, still a chance, but Dante can’t take it.

He’s in the shop again, with Verge again, and here’s history repeating itself

* * *

Getting out of Hell is easier and harder than he thought it’d be. Last time he had to find a natural tear between dimensions, somewhere with a lot of water and a lot of demons. Everyone’s always hustling to slip into the human world.

This time, Vergil used Yamato. After they hunted down and ripped out every last root of the Qliphoth, because Vergil’s a paranoid king. He doesn’t wanna give anyone an easy ride to the top; if they challenge him, they do it under their own power. Or some bullshit like that.

Takes a while to burn every bit of the tree but after they do, there’s no reason not to come back. So back they come. Through a portal Vergil makes while they’re standing waist deep in a demon sea, because water’s the conduit between worlds, and chained together at the hip. Can’t have them losing each other ~~again~~ after all.

They end up somewhere off the coast of Vie de Marli, because of course they do, and make their way from there. Then it’s a lot of catch up because eight months is a long time to be gone from the world. He makes contact with Morrison to get the deed back and start up business again.

He calls up Lady and Trish to thank them for keeping the shop in the black and to sort out his newest debts to Lady. And he forces Vergil to call Nero on both their behalves to sort shit out on that end. It’s a lot of calling, and a lot of back and forth until they’ve got something like a rhythm going. And by the time they do settle into something close to normal, it’s summertime again.

Dante should’ve known better then. Anniversaries suck ass, always have and why would this be any different?

“ ** _Dant_** _ **e!** ”_ is how it starts. An otherworldly howl of his name and a sword through the gut, taking a coil of intestine with it when it’s yanked back out.

“You _lied_ , brother,” is how he realises what’s going on. With a hand splayed over his stomach and blood tricking into his mouth, he understands what’s going on, and it’s a doozy.

Vergil’s snarling in his face, teeth snapping off each word a bare breath from his eye, and Dante doesn’t know what to say. He lied, of course he did. What else was he supposed to do? Leave the kid with no back up? Leave the kid?

Not a chance.

“Nero isn’t _mine_ ,” Vergil growls, rearing back for another slash but Dante blocks the swing, “I should rip your lying tongue out of your head.”

And yeah, he should, but he won’t. Dante knows his won’t, because he if he was gonna do that, he woulda already done it. Nah, Vergil wants something else right now. An apology? For what? Saving his life and protecting Nero? Not a chance.

So what then? Does Vergil want a fight, wanna shout the whole shop down and get the cops called on them, again? Dante can do that. His held together stomach’s already healed up and yeah, yeah they _should_ do this.

Dante catches Vergil off guard when he kicks back the desk and shoves them both away from the rack of devil arms on the wall. In the middle of the room now, perfect place for a shouting match and getting all up in each other’s faces.

“Yeah, I lied Vergil because Nero is the only family I’ve had since I…lost you.”

He tries it keep it true, keep it simple. It’s not a lie if it’s true, it’s just twisting some words around to sound better than they are. And he tries to work up some anger, to get something burning behind his eyes that isn’t regret or sadness, even if that’s all he’s feeling. Oh, and guilt. Lots’a guilt.

Cause here’s Vergil, figuring it all out. Here he is in Devil May Cry, a place named for him, in memorial of him. Here he is with Yamato wet with Dante’s blood, again, and a special kind of anger twisting across his face. The upset kind, the kind that twisted across his face when they were nineteen and Dante won. When they were seven and Dad gave him Rebellion, even if Vergil always wanted Yamato.

“And he’s a good kid,” Dante pushes on, through his brother’s upset and ire, “he’s a _great_ kid, and better’n my lazy ass deserves.”

The last bit’s muttered, half under his breath, because that particular truth shred’s his heart like a broadsword to the back. Nero’s so good, and Dante’s only ever let him down.

“I know what you’re thinking Vergil, why did I say he was yours? Why not mine?” and he’s back into it, throwing his arms up, slapping his chest while Vergil just watches. Studies what Dante’s saying, watching what he’s doing, and cataloguing it all.

“Because he would’ve killed ya, Vergil. He got real strong real quick and he would’ve killed you up on that tree,” and it’s not a lie but it’s still not the truth. Looking back, he can see that Nero did get so much stronger in barely a month.

He’d faced Urizen with just one arm freshly stolen, and survived. Then he came back, a month later and a prosthetic newer, and hurt Urizen in a way Dante hadn’t been able to to with the boost from Rebellion. And at the end, who beat them both down on top-bottom of that tree?

“You’re lying Dante,” Vergil hisses, but that’s a reaction, kneejerk and not real. Vergil’s panting, ever so slightly, and his eyes are blown. There’s so much going on under the surface, too many emotions. Dante wants to take it easy for a second, just to catch up, but no.

No. Vergil asked for this. He could’ve left it alone, but he didn’t. He asked for this.

“I was then but I’m not now, and so what if I did? Huh? So what if I lied to keep the only family I’ve got left? Is it really so wrong to want you _and_ Nero?”

Shit, now he’s panting too. Chest heaving, palms sweaty, his heartbeat’s pounding in his ears like a thunderstorm on a tin roof.

“Hate me some more if you want, Vergil, I don't give a shit, but just don't…don’t take this out on Nero, and don’t take it from him. He deserves his legacy, and his family,” and when Vergil looks away, breaks that eye contact and storms out, Dante knows he wins.

Vergil will lie for him.

* * *

Was this how he looked back then? A man at the end of his rope searching for one spot of bright in the dark? Or was he more resigned? More beat down and going through the motions for motions’ sake?

He doesn’t know, maybe he could ask—no, he probably shouldn’t do that. He should be in the here and now, watching Nero, trying to figure out what to say.

“And there’s this—this spell? Ritual? This thing from the Order’s research that helped them find Sparda’s blood, you and me, that’s why they let me stay here,” Nero explains, running a distracted hand through his hair, raking distracted claws across a tree.

“But I did it, I don’t know why, curious maybe? I had to know, on my own terms. And I thought I did it wrong the first time, so I did it again, and again, six times. Six times it told me, two direct sons of Sparda and one five times removed.”

Nero stops, heel digging into the dirt, and stares Dante down. With the same longing anger, same barely there panting.

Five times removed, great-great-great grandson. For human’s that’d be somewhere around one hundred and forty years, maybe a little more, for demon kin it’s significantly more. Sparda ruled this place centuries ago and of course it makes sense that he put down a couple roots, and it makes sense that Nero’s the last one.

Vergil’s spell didn’t start at Sparda, it started at him. Searched for his own flesh and blood, and only found Dante, just Dante.

“Well? Aren’t you gonna say something?” Nero half shouts, looking for that lifeline.

Dante wants to say he thinks about it, but that’d be a lie.

“Hate me if you want kid but Vergil thinking you’re his son keeps him here, and kept you safe on that tree,” he says, quieter than he did last time, he’s the calm to Nero’s upset rage, “He stays here and out of trouble for you, not me, but I’ll take him however I can get him. I already lost him too many times.”

True, all true, even if it didn’t all work out the way he wanted in the first place.

_Thank you, Nero._

_My father?_

“He’s happy, you’re happy, there’s no reason not to keep being happy just cause some musty spell says you’re not related exactly the way you thought.”

And if that ain’t the kinda thing one of those jumped up demon lords would say. Twisting the facts, shifting the blame; it’s easier than he ever thought it’d be, and here he was thinking it’d be hard. But here he stands, corrected with a slap to the face and one nephew less.

While Nero shreds some leaves into litter, while he begs with eyes that are almost like Eva’s. It’s kinda funny. Nero’s not related to the woman at all, but Dante sees her in him, in the eyes and the kindness and the desperation. Nero ain’t running off into a burning house or riding away in a van Dante’s not sure he’ll ever see again, but there’s the same kinda finality here.

When Nero’s jaw clenches and his fingers flex, he’s already made up his mind but he’s waiting for the request. The _excuse_.

“Please Nero,” Dante murmurs, quiet but not impossible to hear, “ _please_.”

And when Nero’s eyes fall, glare eating into the dirt and grass between his feet, Dante knows he’s won.

Nero will lie for him.

* * *

Vergil doesn’t talk to him for a whole month afterwards, and Dante can understand why. He lied. He gave Vergil a legacy he never knew he wanted then snatched it away just as quick. That’s wrong of him, but it was the only choice he had. That’s what he believes and he’s sticking to it, wasn’t that what Dad always said?

Own up to your mistakes but stick to your convictions. Never second guess yourself and always follow through on that last thrust.

Well he mighta failed on the whole second guessing thing a couple times but Dante’s nothing if not stubborn. He doesn’t apologise for lying, not ever and never, but he does leave sticky notes around the place apologising for other shit. Killing Nelo Angelo then and the trauma troop now, even if Griffon explicitly said they wanted to die. He apologises for letting Vergil fall into Hell all by himself, not grabbing him or jumping down after him.

He apologises for leaving his shit all over the shop and never telling Nero about his legacy before the Qliphoth debacle. He even apologises for that time they were kids and Dante threw Vergil’s book up in a tree which ended with Verge falling his ass back out and breaking a leg.

Patty gets him a set of neon sticky notes to celebrate him being back in the world and Dante makes sure to be as obnoxious as possibly by sticking them everywhere. On Vergil’s bedroom door, on the fridge, on devil arms, on Yamato’s hilt the one time Vergil leaves her unguarded. Dante even gets Nero to deliver one when him and Verge meet up for a shared hunt.

Most of them end up back on Dante's desk in a crumpled ball, at least two get smacked back on the Dante, and Nicoletta rolls up to the shop with a whole window plastered over with them. She’s mad about that one and he does help her get them off, but at least it’s proof Vergil reads them.

And by the time everyone they know is completely fed up with the both of them, Vergil’s talking to him again. Not regularly or anything but he gets a stilted good morning and waspish goodnight a few times a week. Then he gets cold requests for the hunts furthest away from the shop and shouted demands for the ledger to balance them out of Lady’s debt. Though he does mention it’s only him in her debt and gets a sword levelled at his throat for his troubles.

“You wanted me back, brother, well here I am,” Vergil sneers, making sure Yamato just barely pricks his skin.

“Your debts are my debts and I will not live under that woman’s thumb,” and he says “ _that woman_ ” like Lady’s some kind of hag asking for a pound of flesh. If that was all she was asking for, he’d’ve already paid off her debt, but nah, Lady’s craftier than that. She’s also kinder but Verge isn’t in the mood to hear that just yet.

He's still working through the whatever he’s feeling and Dante’s too close to getting back in the good books to drag anybody else in with him. Sorry Lady, gotta wait a little longer.

A month after the month of silence, they’re doing better. Vergil meets with Nero and is semi-civil, Dante hears from Nicoletta that he’s offered sword training with Yamato. Him and his brother get to go on hunts together, well more like they go on hunts close enough to each other that it’s practically one thing though they’re getting paid for two jobs. They’re too powerful and stubborn to actually go on one hunt together.

But yeah, things calm down and get better, even if they never talk about it. Everyone asks what it was about in the first place, that month of testing everyone’s patience, but they never say. Dante lies, of course, and Vergil just hits them with a “ _Our business is our own_ ” because his brother is first and foremost, an asshole.

And if sometimes they get a little too aggressive, a little too close to an actual fight with real killing intent and festering rage, then they don’t talk about that either. Not the whispered under his breath threats of, “ _I could tell him Dante, and what would you do then?_ ” Vergil likes to spit out just to trip Dante up. And definitely not the, “ _Do it, see who he believes. The one who’d die for him or the one who tried to kill him?_ ” he snarls right back.

* * *

The fireworks start before it’s even dark out. Firecrackers from the kiddies playing in the street, rockets from the crazies who don’t give a shit about the law. Dante and Nero have to fly high enough to avoid getting blasted, but it’s fun at least. Lets them think about something other than how terrible a liar he is and how much this shit really, really sucks.

But, convictions and all that. Nero doesn’t say anything while they fly and Dante doesn’t initiate, gotta give the kid a chance to work it through, though, he’s got a feeling the kid already did. Nero knew the answer before he came asking Dante for them, he already knew what he’d do.

Nothing, he’d do nothing, because just like Vergil, he already would’ve done it if he was planning something. Shit, they really are alike, must’a got the tetchy bastard gene Dante missed out on.

“Kyrie, we’re home,” Nero calls when they touch down by the garage, probably in full view of a couple neighbours but Dante figures they already know. Nobody screams at least and Nero leaves him standing out there without a word, which Dante figures is fair.

The sunshine’s still cold and bleak, no matter how blue the sky is, and he wonders if this is the right thing. Sorry about the second guessing Dad, but he’s seriously wondering. He already had Vergil lying for him, now he’s got Nero in the same boat? Is this the right thing?

“Dante, get inside, the children require another horsie,” Vergil yells, popping through the kitchen window with Carlo hanging off his shoulders. The kid’s almost eight, probably too big to get carried around on shoulders, but who cares about that?

“He—ck yeah!” he censors himself, for Kyrie’s sake, and heads back in.

He’ll worry about shit later, when Nero maybe pulls a Vergil and gives him the cold shoulder for a month. Or he’ll pull a Sparda and just never talk about it. Not with Dante, definitely not with Vergil, maybe with his gal pal, but nobody else.

And maybe he’ll make threats too, under his breath in the heat of battle threats that make Dante’s stomach drop and his world narrow. Because he’s got no defence against Nero. Nothing he could fling at the kid to balance things out, no threats he could make and blackmail to stick a stamp on. But hey, maybe the kid’ll be better than him and Verge both, be the bigger man between the three of them.

Dante doesn’t know but he sure fucking hopes, and then he shoves all that in a box to unpack later. He’s got kids to entertain with piggyback rides and summoned swords spelling their names in the darkening sky. He’s got the granddaughter of a friend to indulge with all he knows about devil arms and a brother to bicker with because “ _You going senile in your old age? That’s not what Beowolf felt like_ ”.

There’s a Nero to tease with a pair of fire truck red boxers and grapes to eat and a countdown to yell along with as the fireworks fill the sky. With an arm thrown around Vergil’s shoulders and a grin for Nero and Kyrie’s New Year’s kiss all while he basks in the family he stitched together with pretty lies and twisting truths.

How’s that for sticking to his guns, Dad?

**Author's Note:**

> Uhm, so I blame this entirely on Bad Liar by Imagine Dragons? idk, i was listening to a youtube playlist while watching a playthrough of the game and it just stuck in my head. What if Dante lied to Vergil and Nero?
> 
> I also wanna give a shout out to the DMC chat for listening to my rambling headcanon, they're great.
> 
> As always, feel free to come chat with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Darke_Eco_Freak) or [tumblr](https://darkeecofreak.tumblr.com/) and Happy New Year's y'all.
> 
> Edit: If you have an issue about the tagging and believe tags should be added. Please contact me on either of my social media to discuss any issues you have instead of arguing in the comments with myself and others. Thanks folks


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